Clouds in the Coffee
by whytejigsaw
Summary: From a tumblr prompt: Sherlock keeps bringing Molly coffee in an attempt to, well, he doesn't know what he's doing. Let's hope he figures it out. Beta'd by thinkswithpen & as usual, these are other people's inventions and I'm just playing with them. Cover imaged designed by theprivatelifeofsherlockholmes with many thanks.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning: spoilers for The Princess Bride!**

Molly and Sherlock's coffee choices were exactly opposite. She liked milky unsweetened coffee while the detective took it black with two (and sometimes even three) sugars. He'd never bothered to make it for her, of course, but he had noticed her preference on the coffee front. It would have been hard not to observe while staying with her for a couple of weeks after faking his suicide. Now that Sherlock was back, resurrected, reinstalled in Baker St and resurgent in his career, he had a new respect for Dr Molly Hooper. She was the woman who counted. He wasn't yet sure what she counted for but observation and deduction would help him arrive at the answer, as always.

It was a sunny day in June but in the underground windowless morgue of St Bart's Hospital, it could have been any time of the year and any weather. As Molly had the early shift, she already had 3 hours of work under her belt when Sherlock appeared at 10am.

"Morning, Molly. I brought you some coffee."

"Well, you must want something."

"You wound me. Can't a man just bring his friend some coffee?"

"_A man_ could but you usually have ulterior motives. Now what is it today? You need a spleen for microwaving? Or you want a whole body to throw off a roof? Oh no wait, we did that in March!"

"You are hilarious. I want nothing more than to check on my lab experiments, and I was under the impression I didn't need permission for that! Enjoy your coffee."

Sherlock stalked over to "his" lab bench and got to work.

Molly gathered she had said something wrong but she had already devoted too much time to dissecting Sherlock's thoughts to be bothered on this occasion. She took a sip of the coffee and was delighted to discover it was exactly as she took it. Feeling a little guilty, she called out to him.

"Excellent coffee. Didn't realise you knew how I took it. It's just right, like Goldilocks. Thanks."

Sherlock mumbled something about noticing everything and resumed peering into the microscope.

"Where's John today?"

"He's working at the clinic. At least that's what he's pretending to do. He's really only taken extra shifts there so he can chat up a new nurse, Mary something."

Molly smiled. She never thought she'd see the day where she gossiped with Sherlock Holmes. He had changed so much in the past few years, partly John's influence and partly because faking your own death was pretty life-altering.

"So you've pre-approved this new lady then?"

"No, I have merely checked her out. She seems acceptable. But they all do until they start coming over to Baker St."

"Your perfect future is exactly the same as your present, isn't it? You and John, confirmed bachelors, solving crimes and eating takeaways."

Sherlock looked up at her, and for some unknown reason, seemed a little embarrassed.

"I wouldn't say that. It's unrealistic to think that neither of us will undergo material changes in our lives. John is very likely to settle down someday. It might even be with this new one."

"He hasn't asked her out yet!"

"True, but his usual modus operandus is to ask a woman out for coffee first, or bring coffee to her, which is less threatening than dinner, and he progresses from there. I've made a study of it," he added proudly.

"Gosh, well, I wouldn't be in a hurry to publish the dating habits of Dr John Watson on your blog, Sherlock. You'll give away all his secrets!"

Sherlock scoffed at her warning. He had already put it up two weeks ago, but, perhaps proving that no one read it, John hadn't had a single call or jibe about it.

"Out of curiosity, as a woman, do you feel less threatened by the idea of coffee than dinner?" he continued.

"Are coffee and dinner euphemisms here?"

"No," spluttered Sherlock. Dinner euphemisms always brought up interesting memories, though he chose not to share that fact with Molly.

"Hmm. I suppose so. If one is going out for dinner, there are expectations."

"Of what?"

"Social niceties, making an effort with appearance, fighting over the bill, whether you might kiss at the end of the evening. Coffee could be seen as an easier, afternoon option – taking up less time. A whole evening out with someone might be a bit much on first acquaintance," explained Molly.

"So this would only apply if you had no prior involvement?" he mused.

"I suppose so. But it depends on the context of the previous connection."

"Fascinating."

And here, Sherlock appeared to lose interest and went back to his microscope.

A few days later, Molly was working a later shift, when Sherlock arrived in, again with coffee for her, and this time with John in tow.

"Thought you might need this to get through to midnight," he said.

"Thanks. Actually, things changed, and I get to leave shortly but I appreciate the boost anyway. What are you two here for?"

"We need to look at a body, and _someone_ couldn't wait until tomorrow!" said John.

"It's essential that we see it now."

"Which body?" said Molly calmly.

"It needs to be less than 24 hours old and male, but otherwise it doesn't matter."

"Oh so this is for science, rather than a particular case?"

"Yes."

Molly shrugged. She was used to the detective's unusual requests at this stage.

"So how's it going with Mary?" she asked John.

"How do you know about Mary?" John asked, astonished.

"Oh a little birdy told me…" she nodded in Sherlock's direction.

"Right, must remember that for future reference. It's going rather well. We've had a couple of dates."

"You see, Molly, I was right, they've progressed to dinners. Soon they'll be on to phase 3," interrupted Sherlock.

"Oh yes, what was phase 3 again?"

"It's "John cooks dinner for the lady and kicks me out of the flat for the evening", and it's happening tomorrow night. Could you possibly entertain me?"

"Wait, what do you mean phase 3? Have you been plotting out my dating habits?" John asked.

Molly and Sherlock looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"No…John, not at all. He just knows you really well…" replied Molly, winking at Sherlock.

"How about we go to the cinema, Sherlock?" she continued.

"The cinema? Couldn't we stay here and do experiments instead?"

"No! I'm here quite enough as it is. If you want to be here alone doing experiments, that's fine with me. I'll let Mike know."

"Alright, you've twisted my arm, but I get to pick the film. I'll text you," said Sherlock, with an air of being much put upon.

John looked curiously at Sherlock and then Molly, who shrugged.

When it came, Sherlock's text gave no information other than an address and a time for the following evening. Molly was pretty easy going when it came to films, so she happily compiled with the instructions and showed up. Sherlock was already there waiting for her.

"Hey. What are we seeing? I didn't know this place was a cinema."

"It's a private screening room. The owner owes me a favour. We're watching 2 movies: one for me and one for you."

"And they are?"

"Mine is _The Usual Suspects_. I want to go back over what I missed. I'm still annoyed that I didn't figure out the whole Kaiser Soze thing first time around."

As they went inside, Molly realised they would be the only people in this small screening room. This meant Sherlock would be able to talk during the films and there was nothing she could do about it. He was terrible for talking during TV – worst of all if there were detective stories on.

"Right, and what's the film you've chosen for me?"

"The Princess Bride."

Molly gripped Sherlock's arm excitedly. "How did you know I'd like to see that on a big screen?"

"I deduced," he replied, looking very pleased with himself.

Molly had never been in a private cinema before – it was great: big comfy seats, with footrests, whatever alcohol she fancied, no one in the way of the screen. If Sherlock hadn't been so intent on discussing the plot out loud, it would have been perfect. At least she had seen these films before. She did her best to ignore his running commentary and nursed a glass of beer. They took a short interval between the movies.

"Well, it's completely obvious to me now what I missed before. I don't know how I missed those clues originally."

"Could it be that you were just enjoying the film and not trying to beat the characters to the plot?"

Sherlock glared at her.

"Of course not. Isn't that the point of mysteries on television? So you can work it out first and be smug?"

"Maybe for you! Now, serious question. Have you seen The Princess Bride before?"

"No, why?"

Molly sighed. As much as she loved this film, Sherlock was sure to have questions during it.

"Ok, a few pointers: it's meant to be funny, it's mocking a whole genre of films and just try to suspend your disbelief."

"As long as there's no flying people or random singing, I can cope."

They started to watch and Sherlock started questioning. Why were the places all named after old money? It was unrealistic that the grandfather would read the whole book aloud in so few sittings. Why was Westley such a pushover? But once they got to the bit with pirates, he shut up and allowed himself to be swept along with the plot. He quite agreed with the grandson about the unnecessary kissing bits. Molly watched the whole thing with shining eyes, softly mouthing some of the best lines and a huge smile on her face. As the story came to an end with one final kiss, she turned to Sherlock.

"What did you think?"

"It was…not terrible."

"Not terrible?! Oh come on. It was brilliant. It's a masterpiece."

"I wouldn't go that far. The fights were good. They'd obviously done their homework on sword masters and techniques."

"Trust you to know something like that. Well, I loved it. Again. Thank you for picking this."

She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Sherlock flinched slightly but said nothing. He looked at his watch.

"I think it's probably safe to go home now. I'll drop you off in the cab on the way."

When the cab pulled up to her building a few minutes later, an uncomfortable silence had sprouted between Molly and Sherlock.

"Right, well, if we were on a date, I'd invite you in for coffee but…as it is, I'll see you during the week, yeah?"

"Indeed. Thank you for keeping me company tonight."

She grinned and exited the car. Sherlock told the driver to take him to Baker St.

"She wanted you to come in, mate," said the driver conversationally.

Sherlock groaned inwardly. He hated chatty cabbies.

"No, she didn't."

"Course she did, and you wanted to as well. Her place is in the opposite direction to yours, it don't make sense to share a cab. And that comment about coffee."

"Yes, why do people always say that? Surely they don't want to be awake half the night drinking caffeine so late."

"Ha, I think you'll find that the coffee is a euphemism for something else that would keep you awake half the night. Have you been living on Mars or somethin'?" the cabby laughed to himself.

Sherlock sat back, enlightened. But of course the driver was right: he did want this, he just wasn't entirely sure how to achieve it.

Molly walked slowly up the stairs to her third floor flat. What a lovely evening. It was the best date she'd ever had. Oh wait. Was that what it was? Did he know that? It seemed she had been on a date without realising it. This was where a female best friend would be very handy. Was John even on a date tonight? Oh crap, and she'd made a joke about coming in for coffee. Molly cringed at the thought of such idiocy. Maybe she should text him. After some thought, she had composed the text.

Thanks for a fun evening.

Love M.

How could it take 17 minutes of rewrites to come up with something so prosaic? Still it was better than nothing.

His response was immediate.

No problem

SH

No problem? What kind of answer was that?


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock arrived home at the same time as Mary was leaving. John was just starting to clean dishes but he soon abandoned it in favour of tea and a chat with his flatmate.

"I take it your evening went well?" asked Sherlock.

"It did. Exactly to plan," smiled John.

"So you'll be progressing to spending the night at her place within one to two weeks then?"

"Hopefully. How was your evening with Molly?"

"It was fine. I worked out what I had missed before in The Usual Suspects and then we watched The Princess Bride, which is one of Molly's favourite films."

"Did you have fun?"

"We did."

Sherlock sounded surprised at the admission.

"John, did I take Molly on a date?"

John was more than a little surprised at the question.

"Well, only you can answer that. Did you plan it that way?"

"I didn't think so but now I'm not so sure."

John shook his head as Sherlock retired to his mind palace.

A few days later, at the mortuary.

"Well, that turned out to be an easy solve. I think Scotland Yard might have gotten there on their own in the end," said Sherlock.

"I don't know. I doubt Lestrade would have paid attention to the kitten's behaviour," replied John.

"What happened to the kitten?" asked Molly.

"It went to a shelter."

Molly looked a little sad.

"Do not make that face, Molly Hooper, you do not need a second cat!" exclaimed Sherlock.

"No, probably not. Everything I own is already covered in cat hair as it is."

"What is it with women and cats?" asked John.

"Way to generalise, Dr Watson. Some women prefer other animals and still more don't like any!" Molly retorted.

Sherlock was standing by the lab bench, trying to look casual, not something he often did. It wasn't entirely successful either.

"So, Molly, now that we're finished the case, shall we have coffee?"

"Oh right, I thought you were leaving? I'll just go make some – black & two sugars for you, John – tea?"

"Yep, thanks."

She left the room.

"Sherlock, I thought we were leaving too?"

"Yes, I may have asked that in the wrong tone," he conceded.

"Wait, was that you trying ask Molly out?" John started laughing.

"Don't laugh at me. What was wrong with my tone?"

"Nothing. It's just that after years of fobbing off her attention and treating her like a servant, you'll have to make more effort to get your point across. And the conversation about you asking a girl on a date is going to happen later, when we're at home."

"I really don't think so."

"You've no choice. It'll be like role-reversal, I'll talk and your input will not be required but you'll be forced to listen anyway."

"You know, sometimes I miss just having the skull for company. He never subjects me to unpleasant conversation."

"That is a female skull – how did you not notice?"

"What? It is not."

"Are you arguing with a doctor?"

Luckily, Molly's return with hot beverages prevented further argument. Sherlock decided he wasn't going to try again with an audience, even one as supportive as John.

Once they were home, John made good on his threat.

"So…"

"So what?"

"So you're asking Molly out on a date? What's prompted that? The other night?"

"I just changed my mind."

"I don't believe that for one second," said John.

"She's cool, I like spending time with her."

"_She's cool?_ What are you: 15?"

Sherlock glowered at his flatmate.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," he snapped.

"No, but you need my advice and I won't help you if you aren't nice. I'll have some tea, please."

"You just had some at the morgue!"

"Well, I'd like some more. And some biscuits."

Sherlock stomped out of the room and reluctantly complied. It absolutely killed him to admit that he did need John's help here.

"Alright, hmm, I don't think you can just ask her out straight off. She won't believe you. In fact, she'll think you want some body part."

"I know, I already tried that."

"You mean that was your second attempt?"

"No, it was the third," he said with gritted teeth. "But we did actually go out last week – remember?"

"But she didn't realise that was a date. Probably meant she was more relaxed actually. You make her nervous."

"I had noticed, thank you. Should I aim for more of these "relaxed outings" then and throw off the idea of making it a formal date?"

"That could work. Once she was used to seeing you outside of the hospital, you could put your arm around her or give a little kiss. Something tiny though because you don't want her to faint from shock."

"Are you suggesting that kissing me could be detrimental to her health?"

"Why not? Just knowing you is dangerous. The last few years of my life have been far more risky – and may I remind that I was in the army. In a war. In Afghanistan."

"That's not a kind thing to say, John."

"You know I love you anyway. Even if your nemesis did take out a hit on my life once."

Sherlock put his considerable brain power to work coming up with non-date dates to ask Molly on. Despite the effort he put in, his first suggestion was the same as the last.

Cinema tomorrow night?

John needs the flat.

SH

Only if you promise not to talk during the film.

MH

I can't promise that.

But you can pick the movie.

SH

You'll take the risk of it being some girlie romcom then?

MH

I can always leave if it's awful.

SH

You wouldn't dare!

There's a showing of Some Like It Hot.

Leicester Square, 6pm

MH

That's very early.

SH

You can watch me eat afterwards.

MH

Molly wondered about Sherlock's motives. She decided to send John a quick text, which he received in the detective's presence.

"Sherlock, I've just had a text from Molly."

"What does it say?"

"Do you really have a date tonight?"

Sherlock's face was a picture of confusion as he worked through her reasoning.

"She presumes I have an ulterior motive," he said shortly.

John nodded. He couldn't think of any answer that was suitable.

"I shall endeavour to be more transparent then. Will you please reply and confirm you do indeed have plans to seduce Ms Morstan here tonight?"

Yes. Mary's coming over.

Don't worry – Sherlock just needs entertaining.

Hopefully it'll be mutual!

JW

"Done. Don't worry. I suppose you've only got yourself to blame for her suspicion. Just start making it up to her."

Sherlock dressed with extra care and even made a futile attempt at combing his hair. He didn't want to be too obvious. He just had to approach it like any other time he'd played a role in a case.

Molly was waiting when he arrived in Leicester Square, which hummed with Friday night cinema goers. She had obviously come from work, having her enormous stripy work handbag and many layers of clothes to cater for the coldness of the morgue and the summer weather outside. Sherlock looked delicious, as usual, and made her feel under-dressed but this was hardly new. It was only the cinema after all.

"Hey," she greeted him easily.

"Hello. Shall we go in? Do you want popcorn too?"

"I do. I'm surprised to hear you do though. Is it your day for eating then?" she teased.

"Yes, I can eat on Fridays. Only junk food or takeaway Chinese though," he joked.

"So what's this film about?" asked Sherlock.

With anyone else, Molly would have been astonished that they'd never heard of such a famous film but this was the man who had once admitted he didn't know the Earth moved around the Sun, so all bets were off.

"It's a classic comedy about two men who cross-dress to hide out from the mob. Marilyn Monroe is in it," she sighed.

"Funny how that never occurred to me as an option when I needed to hide out!" said Sherlock.

"I don't think you'd make a good woman. You're too tall to get away with it."

"Hopefully you'll never need to find out. Though I'm sure I'd dress better than you."

Sherlock got a thump for his comment.

"Thinking it and saying it, Sherlock. We've had this talk before. Sometimes it's better to keep it buttoned up!"

Molly stalked off towards the popcorn stand. It was a miracle he didn't get smacked more often for his blunt honesty.

When they went into the already full screening room, it was an old-fashioned style with red faux velvet seats, lots of gilt work, and no legroom. Their seats turned out to be one of those double seats, favoured by teenagers more interested in privacy than the film, and nicely dating it to about 1960.

"Oh dear, we'll just have to make do with this seat," said Molly, biting her lip.

"It'll be fine."

"Apart from the lack of a middle armrest. Don't blame me if I repeatedly nudge you by accident."

"Nudge away."

The false show of bravado covered a range of different emotions for both of them. Molly was sure Sherlock would be uncomfortable sitting so close to her for the whole film, while he was quite keen on the prospect. He casually put his arm across the back of the seat, leading Molly to wonder why men did that. It never looked comfortable and seemed to serve no purpose.

"What's with the arm?"

"Just stretching out."

"I don't understand why men do that. How can stretching your arm out like that be comfy?"

Sherlock thought she was rather missing the point but didn't want to get in more trouble for blunt comments. The movie passed in relative silence and mirth. At one point, Molly got up to use the loo and had to squeeze by Sherlock's overlong legs to get out. When she came back, he was ready. As she approached, he stretched out his left leg, causing her to trip over him and fall neatly into his lap.

"Oh!" she squeaked.

"Ssssssshhh" whispered some other person.

It was too dark to see her properly but having her on his knee felt really cosy for the few seconds it lasted, as though she belonged there.

"Sorry," she whispered.

"Don't worry about it," he replied, his breath warm against her ear. All too quickly she re-positioned herself back on the opposite side of the seat, trying to create as much space as possible between them.

As the movie ended on a line that summed both Molly and Sherlock up nicely, the lights came up. Molly was flushed from the heat of the darkened full room and the proximity of Sherlock. The redness of her cheeks gave her a healthy glow that was normally absent in the harsh light of the mortuary.

"What? Have I got crumbs on my face?" she said, wiping her hand over her mouth.

"No. You just look flushed – it suits you."

"Is that a compliment, Sherlock Holmes? Without an ulterior motive? You must be coming down with something!" She put her hand on his forehead in mock concern.

"Actually, you are quite hot. I mean, your temperature is elevated."

He raised an eyebrow at her verbal antics.

"I wouldn't say it was a compliment entirely without motivation."

"What?!"

"I just wanted to see you smile."

"Oh right," was her surprised response, though it did produce another smile.

"So where do you want to eat?"

"Well, I did say it had to be Chinese takeaway, so I suppose back at your flat?" he replied.

"I'd have thought you were sick of the sight of my place after being stuck there for weeks."

"Apparently not. Perhaps I've missed the cat."

"Aren't you full of jokes tonight? Well, come on then. We're going on the Tube. No. Shut up. Taxis are needlessly wasteful."

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest and then thought better of it.

They strolled back, enjoying the late brightness that comes with June and collected food along the way. Soon, they were ensconced in Molly's sitting room eating dinner. Both were recalling the time Sherlock had spent there. As fond of him as she was, she was quite glad to have her personal space back. Molly had a ridiculous cuckoo clock that had driven Sherlock to distraction and as it crowed 11pm, she yawned.

"Right, time for you to go. I'm sure it'll be safe at this stage. She'll either be gone or in his room."

"Thanks for that image, Molly."

"No problem. Now get out. I want to go to bed."

If Sherlock had any clue how to flirt, as opposed to manipulate, he might have responded cheekily to her comment. Instead, he stood up and stretched. Molly got up to walk him to the door.

"Well, thank you for looking after me tonight," said Sherlock, trying to stall.

She just nodded.

Sherlock leaned down and gently brushed her lips.

"Good night," he whispered and turned to leave.

"Stop."

He stopped.

"Turn around."

He complied.

"What the hell was that?"

"Er. Sorry. Caught up in the moment," he scrambled.

"What moment?"

"You know. The, er. Look, I wasn't thinking. It won't happen again."

He swiftly opened the door and swept out. He was just embarrassed now. All the times he'd imagined kissing Molly Hooper, she had wanted to kiss him back. It had never occurred to him that it might be unwanted. How mortifying.

"Wait," said Molly pointlessly to the back of her door.

"I didn't say it was unwelcome. Just unexpected."

But he was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

In fact, he was gone straight to the corner shop to buy cigarettes. At the heart of it, he knew no amount of nicotine patches were going to cut it with the thinking he needed to do. He savoured unwrapping the cellophane, the spark of the match, that first delicious inhale, the smoke hitting the back of his throat. Less so the coughing fit that followed it but he was an addict and nothing would stop him from getting his fix tonight.

He ignored three calls from Molly and deleted the resulting voicemails. Hey, he didn't even answer his phone at the best of times. When he arrived home, John was thankfully in bed and he lay on the couch to continue his thinking.

Molly had tried calling Sherlock immediately after he left. Voicemail. Damn it!

"This is Sherlock Holmes. Leave a three sentence summary of your problem and if I think it's interesting enough, I might phone you back."

"Sherlock, it's Molly. Why did you run off like that? Call me back. Or come back. Please."

Her second call was 5 minutes later.

"Would you just call me back? You caught me off guard. I wasn't prepared."

After another 15 minutes, it became apparent that he was neither calling back nor coming back now, so she left a final voicemail.

"Sherlock, we need to talk about this. I'll see you at work."

Molly resolved to get some sleep but her mind was racing. What was he thinking kissing her? Did he mean to aim for cheek and miss? That didn't seem likely with someone so graceful. So he meant to kiss her. Why? Why now, after all this time? She was only getting to grips with seeing him outside of work – making the transition to an actual friendship. Of course, knowing Sherlock, this might be some weird, misjudged experiment. But he wasn't that cold machine from before his resurrection anymore. She could barely even think the idea that maybe he wanted more than friendship from her. It seemed so unlikely. It couldn't be that. She eventually succumbed to sleep after sensible thoughts had long fled her mind.

The next morning, John and Mary found Sherlock asleep on the couch. John wisely quickly saw Mary out and hurried back upstairs. There was no movement from Sherlock. Sod him, thought John, he could sleep in his room. I'm making breakfast.

The smell of coffee and toast soon roused Sherlock.

"Good morning," said John.

Sherlock just grunted in response.

"Urgh, you smell like an ashtray. Have you been smoking again? What's wrong?"

"I'll smoke if I want to!" snapped Sherlock.

"Oh so something is wrong. Never say you've taught me nothing," John quipped.

Never one to do things in the right order, Sherlock downed a cup of coffee, took a shower and put his pyjamas on. He reappeared in the living room to find John flicking around bad morning television.

"Any cases?" he said hopefully.

"Nada," said John.

"Are you ready to tell me what's wrong?"

"I suppose."

Sherlock lay back down the couch.

"Oh, are we role-playing? Am I Freud in this scenario? Tell me about your childhood." John laughed at his own joke.

"So something happened with Molly, something bad, I'm guessing."

"Yes."

"Is this 20 questions? Could you turn around and look at me and resume speaking in full sentences?"

"We had a very pleasant evening and I kissed her goodnight. She did not react as expected."

"Oookay. What sort of a kiss? What sort of a reaction?

"One brief kiss on the lips – a goodbye kiss. She responded by asking me what the hell I was thinking. I couldn't think of a good answer so I said I was caught up in the moment. She said what moment. I mumbled something incoherent and left. It was pretty awful."

"And then what?"

"And then I smoked an entire packet of cigarettes and ignored three calls from her."

John shook his head.

"Did she leave voice messages?"

"Yes, but I deleted them unheard."

"You are a monumental prat. So let's sum up. You kissed her. She queried it. You ran away."

"Yes."

"So you don't actually know how she felt about being kissed by you? And deleted the potential answer to that question."

"You don't understand, John. I thought she would be pleased, that she would react happily."

"You thought it would be like some movie where the object of someone's affection finally copes on and they live happily ever after? Well, I never took you for that kind of idiot! I warned you to go slowly on this. She's used to your blunt honesty and bad behaviour. She probably never expected to be kissed by you ever. Of course she was going to question your motives. You'll have to talk to her."

Sherlock had listened carefully to what John said but his eyes widened with horror at the last part.

"No. I'm not talking to her ever again. We'll find a new pathologist. A new morgue."

"Oh, that's very mature."

"It will solve the problem. If I don't see her, I can forget about her."

"You're right: I don't understand. If you talk to her, she might tell you that even though you caught her unprepared, she's really thrilled that you made a move."

"It seems unlikely."

"Right, well, I'll leave you to it. I'm heading into town to do some shopping. Do you need anything?"

"Nicotine patches."

As soon as John was outside, he took out his phoned and dialled Molly's number, hoping she would actually answer the phone. She jumped when she saw who it was, but then she was on her third coffee of the day.

"John, what's happened?"

"Hello to you too. Nothing's happened."

"Then Sherlock is ok? Only he left in a bit of a rush last night and hasn't returned any of my calls."

"Well, I wouldn't say he's ok but he's physically fine. He, eh, told me what happened."

"Oh."

After a pause, she continued: "Did you gain any insight into his behaviour? Because I sure as hell don't understand it."

John sighed. He really didn't want to explain this but he'd dug his own hole by calling her: may as well jump in now.

"He likes you."

"I know."

"No, he_ likes_ you."

"Nah," was the response, followed by a nervous giggle.

"He really does. He's not gone about telling you in a very eloquent manner but he does. I doubt he's ever told anyone he fancied them before. And he thinks you're not interested."

"What? He has met me before, right? Even he has to have noticed my occasional mooning over him in the lab? I mean, I'm not very good at hiding my emotions."

"Of course he knows. That's just it. He thought you'd be pleased. All that enormous brainpower and it never occurred to him that you might wonder about the sudden change of heart. He's an idiot."

"Well, that clears up the confusion. Wait, are you sure? This isn't some scientific test of emotional responses to unanticipated things, is it? You would tell me?"

"No! Sherlock doesn't do that kind of science. I mean, he's interested in you, and he panicked."

"I suppose he's planning to never speak to me again now."

"How did you know that?"

"That's what immature people do – stick their heads in the sand."

"True. What are you going to do?"

"I do not know yet. But I will. Thanks for calling me, John."

As he hung up, he decided to do more small piece of intervention. He sent Sherlock a text.

I told her.

Try not to have any more cigarettes.

JW

A/N: so this chapter is on the short side but I want to break off here before what is probably the last part.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock continued to mope about at home. He had no frame of reference for these feelings and John was unhelpful. Possibly because John started out with a position of potentially fancying most women, whereas Sherlock was only interested in one. This interest had come on him so gradually he'd barely noticed. But when he thought back, it must have begun when she called him out that Christmas before his fall for embarrassing her so. What he most remembered from that night, apart from her reaction, was the growing horror on his friends' faces as he deduced Molly. Lestrade looked appalled. John couldn't look away but wanted to. Mrs Hudson alternated embarrassment for Molly with embarrassment for himself. John's girlfriend, oh who cares what she thought. But Molly managed to stand up to him that night, when she was clearly mortified, and that awoke something in him. Later on, when she deduced him the day before the fall, he realised again that she was something special. Molly didn't even realise at the time that Sherlock's methods of observation had rubbed off on her, but there she was, using his own talent against him, which of course ultimately led to her direct involvement and later hiding of him. That shelter had allowed their relationship to grow in a new way: Molly was no longer intimidated by him. He came to see her as an equal, well, no, no one was quite his equal, but at least on the same playing field. He had also never spent so much time with a woman. There had been no female flatmates in the past. Living with a woman, just sharing a space, was so different and vital an experience. He learned so much about human behaviour in that short time. And since then, it had improved his detection rate. Once he might not have considered an emotional angle for a crime. But now, he had potentially ruined it all by changing the nature of their relationship with one stupid kiss.

Molly was reeling from John's revelation. A part of her wondered if it could possibly be a joke, but John wasn't the sort to play cruel pranks. So, as Sherlock would say, when you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. But what if the truth seemed impossible? One thing was clear, they had to talk.

An hour later, after a quick text to John to confirm he was not at home, Molly arrived at Baker St. As she stood there, coffees in hand, she seemed to lose her nerve. Mrs Hudson saved the day by going out at that moment, so Molly was ushered in and up the stairs before she could run away.

"Sherlock! That nice Molly is here to see you," she shouted up the stairs as she left.

Molly again stood outside John & Sherlock's front door and paused without knocking.

"You may as well come in since you're here."

She took a deep breath and opened the door. The flat was the usual chaos of books and newspapers. Sherlock was lying on the couch in his pyjamas.

"Oh, did you just get up? Never took you for a lying around in bedclothes person."

"Actually, I rarely get dressed unless I'm going out. What are you doing here?"

"Well, if you'd listened to my voicemails, you'd know I wanted to talk to you."

"I don't want to talk to you. But you can leave the coffee."

"Tough bananas. I'm here and you're going to listen." She handed him his coffee and clearing a pile away from the coffee table, sat down on it in front of him.

"We have chairs," he said, glowering at her.

"Yes, but they seem far away and I want to make sure you're paying attention."

"Now, I spoke to John and he gave me some surprising news."

Sherlock responded by turning away from her and groaning into the cushions. Molly reached out tentatively and put her hand on his shoulder. He tensed up but didn't turn around.

"Sherlock, is it true? Do you, em, like me? Is that why you've been spending time with me and why you kissed me last night?"

He remained silent. Molly pulled his shoulder to try and force him to look at her.

"Well this is a great start. I can just imagine telling our grandchildren this story. _Oh yes, I liked your grandfather for years before he finally reciprocated and then he had complete flap when he did and acted like a 4 year old in trouble. _Now, I know what you're going to say…we've kissed once and I've already named our grandchildren. Well, get over it, women always do this sort of thing. We imagine future scenarios with men we met once at a bus stop, celebrities, people we knew 20 years ago."

Sherlock finally turned around. His eyes displayed a combination of mass confusion and amusement. He sat up straight, facing her, their knees almost touching.

"You've named our putative _grand_children?"

"Of course, there's 5, Violet will have three children and Nicholas will have two."

"And Violet and Nicholas are our….children?"

"Yes," she seemed to finally realise that this conversation was taking place outside her head. "Er, I sound a bit crazy now, don't I?"

"Quite mad. But I suppose it couldn't be any crazier than kissing someone and then running away before they had a chance to react."

He stared at her. Unwilling to bear such close examination, Molly moved to get up and walk away but Sherlock grabbed her hands and pushed her back down.

"So….what now?" he asked.

"Well, according to John's dating rules, we've done phase 1: coffee. What does he do next?"

"I don't think we should bring him into this any further than he already is, do you?"

"Why don't you try kissing me again?"

He must have looked terrified because Molly immediately added:

"Those grandchildren won't appear on their own! If you can't even kiss me…"

He closed his eyes as if steeling himself for the ordeal ahead. Molly was now frustrated by his quixotic behaviour, so she took matters into her own hands. She leaned over and grabbed his cheeks. His eyes flashed open at the sudden contact and he watched as she closed the gap between them and gently laid her lips on his. They stayed like that, without moving for several seconds, savouring the taste and idea of it. No fierce clawing at each other's clothes – though it would surely come later. Sherlock took hold of her hands again to pull her forward but stopped short of dragging Molly onto his knee. For now, it was all a bit overwhelming. He broke off the kiss and leaned his forehead against hers. Molly felt as she might bust apart. Never, in all the years of knowing Sherlock, well maybe the moments before she first spoke to him, but not since, did she actually think this would happen. Of course, she had imagined it countless times…but this was real life.

Finally, he asked again: "So what now?"

"I think I'd like to take you out."

He looked confused. "I know this has previously been not my area, but aren't I supposed to take you out?"

"Not unless we've gone in a time machine to 1950. Besides, I earn more money than you. In fact, you don't even have a regular income. I'm not sure you're boyfriend material at all." She shook her head.

Sherlock gazed down at their still-linked hands.

"Maybe not, but I'll do my best."

"I would expect nothing less. Now go get dressed, I'm taking you on adventure."

The End.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.


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